Quantum Loser
by Wilmot Peterson
Summary: What if QL sent someone else after Sam? And that someone else was a fat custodian with periods of depression?


Quantum Loser  
By Jason Luna  
  
Not caring whether or not he could travel within his own lifetime, Mr. Malcolm Autobee was shoved into the Quantum Leap Accelerator...and vanished. Now, he finds himself leaping from life to life, facing mirror images that are better than his own. His only guide is Peter Gadsen, a hologram from the future who only bothers Malcolm. Malcolm finds himself putting things  
right that he doesn't care about, hoping his next leap will be mildly  
interesting...  
  
There he was, lying on a bed. It was a very nice bed; in fact some film noir detective idiot might say it was "a little too nice". But they would be wrong. In Malcolm's opinion, nothing could be too nice for a guy who had gotten the short end of the stick like he had. Raised in a middle- class suburban household, all of Malcolm Autobee's dreams had collapsed due to the mild annoyance everyone seemed to express to him for no apparent reason.  
His English degree had gotten him nowhere so he decided to let life lead him where it may. The results weren't as philosophically fulfilling as one might expect. He thought he had at least mildly landed some prestige when he got to clean toilets down at a military installation in New Mexico. He was then told that he couldn't disclose his small victory to his even smaller circle of friends, because he might be exposed to top-secret research.  
Might be exposed? How about dragged into it kicking and screaming? He still remembered being called into his CO's office that fateful day.  
"How's the toilet cleaning been going?", he asked in a gruff manner.  
Oh, how Malcolm desperately wanted to go into a rant about how it was a stupid question to ask because he was cleaning receptacles commonly used for defecation. But since he didn't want to be court- martialed, flogged, or whatever the current vindictive military policy was at the time, he just muttered "Fine."  
"Good, good. Look, Jacinto...", the colonel with the dusty white moustache who looked nervous for some bizarre reason began.  
"It's Malcolm, sir."  
"Gosh darn it, private! Don't correct me," he yelled, showing  
much aggravation.  
"Sorry sir."  
"Now, Jacinto, does time travel interest you?"  
"Certainly, sir. I wrote my college thesis on it."  
"So is Wednesday good for you?"  
"Sir?"  
"Do you want to time travel on Wednesday or not?"  
Malcolm was at a loss for what to say. He was sure that his  
boss was crazy. But then he remembered that there was a WC waiting to  
be cleaned with a toothbrush, so he said "Fine."  
"All right," the skinny colonel with the aforementioned  
moustache replied, and began shuffling through papers on his desk  
searchingly. "A little back story. Dr. Sam Beckett invented a process  
called Quantum Leaping, wherein a person switches body with a person  
throughout time. They were going to cut our funding, so Sam decided to  
give it a shot and off he went."  
"Wait a minute", Malcolm proclaimed, "You sent a doctor last  
time?"  
"Yes, what exactly is your point?"  
"There weren't any custodians you could force into it?"  
"You cracking wise with me, boy?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"I thought so. To answer your question, our custodians USED to  
be valuable."  
"Touché, sir."  
"Thank you."  
"Sir, don't you think Dr. Beckett would be better at giving me  
this speech?"  
"Um, yeah... Here's the thing. When Dr. Beckett leaped, we  
couldn't exactly bring him back."  
Before Malcolm could raise a voice of protest, he was escorted  
out of the room on the pretense of preparations for the trip. Before he  
could bat an eye he was drugged and out like a light. While he was out  
for God knows how long, he must've woken up a tiny bit as he overheard  
the following conversation at one point in time:  
"Why are we going to send another guy through time?" a gruff  
voice rang out.  
"It's pretty obvious to me," a gruffer voice replied.  
"To help mankind twice as much?" Gruff asked.  
Malcolm was slightly offended when Gruffer gave a loud laugh.  
"Look it," Gruffer expounded, "if we wanted to just help people, don't  
you think we'd send in a strapping young Marine, not some fat  
custodian?"  
"Then why?"  
"They shoved his body full of these experimental probes. They  
don't care what he does when he leaps; they just want to run some tests  
on him while he's doing it."  
Malcolm couldn't listen to the rest of this scintillating  
conversation, as his narcotics kicked back in and he returned to his  
comatose state. He was mildly cognizant while he was being dragged  
towards a blue light. Whoever was carrying him dropped him, and he felt  
a skinny, dusty-mustached presence standing over him.  
"Now let's make this official. Do you, Jacinto Olbrish," a  
voice rang out, as Malcolm felt a window of opportunity grow as his  
drugs began to wear off," agree to travel through time, even if you are  
never to return?"  
"It's...Malcolm...Autobee...you son of a..."  
"Oh crap," the colonel yelled," he woke up! Let's throw him in  
there before he can disagree."  
And throw him in they did. Now he was lying in a bed that was  
not his own. He got up. There was a gilded mirror on the other side of  
this luxurious bedroom. He saw a handsome man in his mid-30s, with  
short blond hair and dreamy blue eyes. Gone was his admittedly  
corpulent figure, and his unkempt black hair.  
While contemplating, he heard a "vhoosh" noise, and turned to  
see a man who was not dissimilar from his reflection. He was in his mid-  
twenties, with the same blue eyes and blonde hair.  
"Hello, Malcolm. My name is Peter Gadsen," the blonde-haired  
man stated, clearly attempting to calm Malcolm down. "I'm here to help  
you figure things out. But first, I have to ask, do you remember your  
last name?"  
"Why the heck shouldn't I?"  
"You mean, your memory is intact?" Peter seemed shocked.  
"Yep. Why do you ask?"  
"Well, in the case of..."  
"Dr. Beckett?" Malcolm rudely interrupted.  
"Yes, in his case, his memory was dashed akin to Swiss  
cheese, hence the term "Swiss-cheese brain"."  
"Maybe it has something to do with these devices they  
crammed into my body," Malcolm said in a tone that rang true of  
depression.  
"You know about those?" Peter seemed surprised.  
"Yes, could you please tell me what they are?"  
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's classified. But let's get to your  
mission..."  
"My what?"  
"Your mission, Malcolm. God, randomness of time, or some other  
B.S. places a leaper in a situation where he is supposed to help  
people."  
Malcolm was feeling upset. The same people who had shoved his  
body full of experimental devices expected him to help somebody out.  
But I guess it wasn't like he had to help the colonel cross the street.  
This was a real person, a person who hadn't been exposed to the  
bureaucratic torture of a certain New Mexico military establishment. He  
certainly couldn't live with himself if an everyday person was in pain.  
Taking all of this into account, he formulated the only reasonable  
response.  
"I must refuse," Malcolm said proudly.  
"WHAT?" Peter was fuming.  
"Look, I'm rich now. Why should I care about some peon?"  
"Because in the original history she ends up living a life of  
sadness and..."  
"Wait a minute, wait a minute! She lives?"  
"Well, yes, but..."  
"Tell me, do you know what it is that I would have to do to  
turn this girl's life around?"  
"Simple. All you have to do is show her some kindness."  
"Oh, the irony! You expect me to do something for someone that  
no one would ever do for me!"  
"That's just vindictive, Malcolm!"  
"You're right, it is, but maybe I'm maintaining a balance in  
the universe. Did you ever think for one second that the bad things  
that happen to people throughout time are planned that way?"  
"Look, if you help her, I'm sure she will be kind to you as  
well," Peter reasoned.  
"No, she'll be kind to this face and the large amounts of cash  
I clearly have," Malcolm was fuming. "Now, if you could, by whichever  
mechanism you came in, please leave. I want to get dressed and get some  
breakfast."  
"Fine. I hope you will reconsider," and a door of white light  
opened and Peter began to go through it. Malcolm ran at it in an  
attempt to follow suit and managed to pass through Peter and the door  
and collide with the wall.  
Malcolm put on a nice silver robe and went downstairs to eat.  
He discovered the man he was inhabiting had a seemingly infinite  
metabolism, so he wolfed down a lot of magnificently prepared steak.  
After eating for a while he noticed a presence behind him. It turned  
out to be a butler with a big red moustache.  
"May I get you anything, sir?" the Butler asked with a prim and  
proper English accent.  
"No, thank you. Um, would you mind if I asked you questions  
that I should clearly know and not even bother asking?" Malcolm asked  
nervously.  
"Not at all, sir. Any request you make I will be more than  
pleased to perform, despite any claim of its absurdity."  
"What's my name?"  
"Your name is Filbert Falconeri."  
"How did I make all this cash?"  
"You inherited 16 Billion dollars from your oil magnate father,  
Phillip Falconer."  
"Why does he have a different last name than I do?"  
"Master Phillip felt that the name Falconeri was too ethnic, so  
he Americanized it. You wanted to show your Italian background, so you  
returned it to its origins."  
"Yeah, that's great," Malcolm failed in his attempt to hide his  
complete disinterest. "What month, day, and year is it?" he added.  
"It is August the 17th, in the year 19 and 92."  
"Thank you, butler boy, now I think I'll go and watch some TV."  
"I'm afraid you can't do that sir. I came in here to inform you  
that you must speak to your public about your merger with DEVO Standard  
Oil."  
"I'm rich. Can't I get out of it?"  
"Not when you're dealing with people as rich as Buck Maydew,"  
and with that the butler walked out of the room in a dignified manner.  
Malcolm went upstairs to change his clothes.  
Malcolm was sitting in a chair behind a podium in a spacious  
conference room. On his left was his bodyguard, a big guy who didn't  
exactly look like the most cultured fellow. And on his right was Buck  
Maydew. Buck was in a blue suit and was wearing a straw hat. Buck  
leaned over to Malcolm.  
"Here's how it's gonna work. I'm gonna give 'em the company  
mantra, and then throw it to you for some general Q &A." and with that  
Buck took the podium.  
"I am glad that Falconeri Oil has decided to honor our company  
with this merger. And the people of New York and America at large will  
benefit. This is because of the dedicated service of DEVO Oil. Let me  
explain the acronym. Developmental, Environmental, Vehicular Oil. Hence  
the name DEVO oil. As our motto goes, 'Are we not men? We're more than  
that, we are DEVO.' Now I'll throw it over to Filbert Falconeri to  
answer any of your questions."  
Malcolm took the podium. A man of college age with a goatee and  
rose-colored glasses was called upon.  
"What do you think about burgeoning gas prices?" the man  
queried.  
"I think things will probably get worse before they get  
better."  
A young woman who was dressed in all black and had white makeup  
was called upon.  
"Do you think this merger will have any positives for the  
average person?" she asked in an especially cynical manner.  
Malcolm repeated what Peter whispered into his ear:  
"Probably not, but you must remain positive in your life,  
because the odds are in your favor."  
Malcolm felt an odd sense of completeness. After the press  
conference ended, he turned around and saw Peter standing there with a  
big smile on his face.  
"That was her, wasn't it?" he asked in awe.  
Peter nodded.  
"I thought I wanted to live Filbert's life. And who knows, if  
you hadn't intervened, I might've lived happily. But know that I helped  
that girl out, I feel good. Peter Gadsen, you are a godsend!"  
"You're not so bad yourself."  
"What happens now?" Malcolm asked with some curiosity.  
"You should leap in a few seconds."  
Malcolm waited a few seconds, and nothing happened. Then he  
waited a few more. Then a few more. He turned to Peter, who was feeling  
quite nervous.  
"I don't know what's wrong. You should be gone," Peter  
commented as he fished through his pockets. He pulled out what looked  
like a connection of multicolored Legos. He took a quick look at it and  
then turned ashen white.  
"Turns out that such a tiny compliment filled her with such  
ecstatic happiness that she accidentally forgot to signal and cut  
someone off while changing lanes", Peter said slowly and clearly  
agitated.  
"She got in car accident?"  
"No. But the man she cut off was upset enough to follow her  
home and kidnap her. He's going to strangle her to death in 15  
minutes."  
"Maybe you aren't a godsend, Peter. Can you help me find her?"  
"I've got a lock on her right now. If we hurry, we might still  
make it."  
So, after jumping in his limousine and yelling at his  
chauffeur, it was a quick drive over to the girl's apartment.  
Malcolm found her on the kitchen tile, with a big strong man  
standing over her, attempting to strangle. It was a simple matter of  
knocking him out cold. But for a man who in his previous life had been  
a fat weakling, maybe the matter wouldn't be so simple. At least he  
managed to make him take his hands off her throat by jumping on his  
back.  
But he didn't do much else as the big man merely got up and  
threw him across the room. Big walked over to Malcolm lying on the  
floor.  
"What are you gonna do?" Big asked menacingly.  
Malcolm answered with a swift kick to Big's groin. To Malcolm's  
surprise Big didn't even flinch. Malcolm rolled out of the way of an  
attempted big stomp, hopped back on his feet, and unleashed a flurry of  
useless punches to Big's gut. Peter stepped out of his white door.  
"How's it going?" Peter asked.  
"How do you think it's going?" Malcolm asked exhaustedly.  
"Wut?" Big asked as he lifted his big fists and hammered them  
into Malcolm's back, causing him to fall to the floor.  
"Do you know Kung Fu?" Peter asked nervously.  
"Why would you ask?" Malcolm was barely able to get this out of  
his seemingly collapsing lungs.  
"Well, SAM knew Kung Fu," Peter said in a condescending tone.  
"Enough about Sam!" Malcolm whimpered as he crawled between  
Big's legs, over the girl's body, and jumped up to the kitchen counter  
in an attempt to find a blunt object. He managed to find a roll of  
paper towels.  
"You gonna give up?" Big asked in a mocking tone.  
"I'm not going to give UP," Malcolm managed to gasp out," but  
I'll give you THIS!" and with that Malcolm smashed Big across the face  
with the roll. To Malcolm's horror, the roll fell apart and Big was  
none the worse.  
Big wrapped his large hands around Malcolm's throat and began  
to slowly squeeze. Malcolm let out some gasps of air. Peter got closer  
so as to hear them.  
"Tell...me...about...these...probes," Malcolm managed to get out.  
"I can't, it's classified," Peter felt torn for probably the  
first time in his life. Big picked up Malcolm by the throat and threw  
him clear across the room. He hit a closet door and hurt his back  
against the doorknob. He slumped in the corner.  
"It's my only shot, Pete. Do you want me to die AND fail my  
mission?"  
"You're right, Malcolm. I don't know a thing about those probes  
but I'll find someone who does." And Peter opened his light door and  
ran through it.  
"I do want yoo to dye," Big drawled as he began to saunter over  
to Malcolm," and there ain't nuthin' yoo kin do about it."  
Malcolm was pretty confident that Big was right, until he saw a  
chair that was just behind Big. Malcolm quickly crawled under it, gave  
it a quick bump that knocked Big slightly off-balance, ran into the  
living room section of the apartment and ducked behind the couch.  
Big assumed that Malcolm was just running scared. So he moseyed  
on over feeling, well, Big about himself. But when he came upon the  
couch, he found Malcolm crouched in the attack position.  
Malcolm flung himself across Big. Big was shocked for a second,  
but he recovered. He merely leaned back against the nearest wall, and  
used that momentum to gain enough power to throw Malcolm clear across  
the room. Malcolm broke a lamp and slumped in yet another corner.  
"Malcolm!" he heard Peter's familiar voice. "Are you still  
alive?"  
Malcolm let out an affirmative groan.  
"I talked to one of the Docs. You won't believe this. He wants  
you to think about sheep and punch him in the face. It should knock him  
out. It's a quirk in one of the probes in your brain."  
By this time Big was almost upon Malcolm, so he had to work  
fast.  
"Wait a minute! Don't you want to kill me fair and square?"  
Malcolm was sure this wouldn't work.  
"What do you propoze?" Big was curious.  
"Pick me up and put me down right in front of you. I think I  
can still stand for a few more seconds. I'll recite a nursery rhyme and  
give you one clear punch across the face. After that, we'll continue  
wrasslin'."  
Big picked Malcolm up and put him down right in front of him.  
"Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep," Malcolm began, "And...oh  
crap, I don't have time for this!" And with that, Malcolm let loose  
with a haymaker to the jaw.  
Big staggered and collapsed on the carpet. Malcolm fell with the  
forward motion of his punch onto the couch. The girl came running into  
the room, heaping kisses upon Malcolm and thanking him for saving her  
life.  
"I have to make certain you won't remember that piece of advice  
I gave you about the sheep punch," and as Peter was phrasing this  
sentence he pushed a button on his Lego block and Malcolm felt a slight  
twinge in his brain. "Now you'll leap, Malcolm."  
And in a few seconds, Malcolm did. He started glowing yellow  
with electricity coursing through his body.  
"You're supposed to turn bl-"Peter started to shout.  
But before Peter could finish his sentence, Malcolm was gone,  
and a confused billionaire who couldn't see Petey was in his place.  
THE END 


End file.
